Soma
by kinneas
Summary: Hawke and Anders take a holiday. Explicit.


**Soma  
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Garrett was staring at him.

Well, perhaps 'staring' wasn't the adequate term-more like outright leering, eyes black, legs folded haphazardly on the library settee.

"You're drunk," Anders said.

Garrett's lazy grin widened. "_Never_." The half-empty decanter next to him practically grinned, too.

Anders rolled his eyes. "Are you just turning that up when I'm not looking?"

"Why not?" Garrett shrugged, but his liquor-heavy eyes never left Anders, and the tip of his tongue grazed his teeth. "You're taking the night off. So am I."

"I didn't know you needed the occasion," Anders said, not bothering to hide the cattiness in his voice, maybe even emphasizing it, not that Garrett was in any state to notice the difference.

"I don't," Garrett said, sliding off the sofa and slinking toward him, so much like a cat, the decanter dangling from his fingertips and his voice soft and low-low enough for Anders to push his coat patch job away and _curl his fingers_. "I don't," he said again, "but you do."

That wasn't exactly untrue.

Garrett climbed into Anders' lap, rolling his hips, and by now it was practically instinct for Anders to slide his hands over Garrett's ass and pull him closer, the chair cramped but hopefully used to what they had to offer. When Garrett lifted the bottle to Anders' lips, he couldn't help but sip at it.

He smelled it before he tasted it: a bitter root among the spirit botanicals, inexpertly blended, and it was all over Garrett's breath as much as the glass bottle.

Anders' hands faltered, and he breathed, "...You're not just drunk." But Garrett was already licking a trail along Anders' rough stubble, his own beard tickling against Anders' skin, and he felt Garrett's grin at his ear.

"Used to do it back when I worked for Athenril. You don't have to," he said, voice rumbling and body twisting against him. "...But don't you want to?"

Since that poor girl, the nagging voice Anders couldn't discern as his own or Justice's had subsided, those maybe-self-imposed restrictions and whispers of duty and conscience quiet. But _herbing_-he'd done it in the Circle, not so much with the Wardens, hadn't dreamed of it in years, and like so many other things, he'd never expected to do it again.

"Andraste's tits, love, I-"

But Garrett's breath was on his neck, hair falling in his face, sinewy legs clenched around Anders' hips and erection increasingly obvious, increasingly wonderful, and there was only so much a man could bear. All Garrett's pent-up frustration and anger and something much deeper and rougher plagued his every action, but right now the lines on his face, lines of his mother and the Arishok and the recent months it took to recover from both, were almost smooth.

Garrett slid his hand over Anders' cock through his trousers. He'd forsworn sex, too, and look where that had got him.

"…Fine," Anders said, and Garrett smirked and raised the decanter to his lips again.

"I'll warn you, it hits damn quick," he laughed, and Anders didn't have time to tell him how intimately he was already aware before he was shooting down strong spirit, struggling not to choke. It flooded his mouth, burned his throat, and a trickle spilled down his chin and onto their clothes. Anders gasped and coughed while Garrett watched, gave him a blessed moment to breathe, then tipped it up again.

"You're so gorgeous like this," Garrett said, finally dropping the near-empty decanter to the floor and licking the trail of liquor off Anders' neck and chin, tongue hot, hotter than usual.

Anders' stomach felt the warmth first before it flared out and up, into his head and arms and legs and cock as Garrett ground against him.

"I love you," Garrett said, and that almost warmed Anders more than the cocktail. "I love you, and I want my mouth around your cock, and I want you to be loud, _so loud_, I want to hear you and I want everyone to hear what I'm doing to you." He slipped his fingers into Anders' loose hair, staring as focused as he could manage. "I want Kirkwall to know that we don't give a shit."

Anders' face had to be flushed, he could _feel_ it under his skin, and medically he wasn't sure if the numbing of his cheeks was the liquor or herb or sudden rush to his groin, but either way the thought of Garrett's lips stretched tight over his dick, cheeks hollowed and beard and moustache framing him like no one else ever would, that thought was enough for him to nod and tilt his head back and let the night and the drugs do their work.

Garrett slipped off him to the floor, stumbling just short of too much on the way down, and he nuzzled and mouthed at Anders' cock through the fabric of his trousers, a sort of tantalizing and unfair preview.

"Don't you tease me," Anders groaned, spreading his legs as Garrett kneeled before him. "I've conceded enough tonight."

"My house, my rules," Garrett said. "I want to see how far I can get you before you take up 'victims of sex teases' as your next cause." He traced the outline of Anders' dick with his tongue, sucking at the head through fabric, and the heat on Anders' face pulsed.

He groaned, _loud_, louder than he ever normally permitted himself, for the thrill of it as much as it felt amazing.

"_Yes_," Garrett said, and while the world seemed fuzzy he was sharp as ever, kneeling between Anders' thighs and lovingly nuzzling against him like he was some kind of treasure. "That's what I want," he slurred, and drew Anders' trousers down until he was tenting through only his smalls, then he sucked at him again.

A few seconds of that friction and warm, wet heat seeping through cotton, and Anders was fully hard, practically aching. It felt almost like a fever, but hazier, and like he could do _everything_ to Garrett and never be satisfied. He hooked one leg over the chair arm, spread wide.

"_Please_," Anders moaned, dragging his hand over his face before sliding it down into Garrett's hair. Garrett stared up at him from between his legs, open-mouthed and drunk-eyed, and Anders' cock pressed into his cheek.

"You want me," Garrett breathed, perhaps a question, and his rumbling vibrated through Anders. Garrett nuzzled against his cock, still suckling through the fabric.

Bugger to this. Anders gripped Garrett by the chin, only firm enough to get his point across, and tugged his smalls down and out of the damned way. "More every day," he answered, then gripped his cock and smeared where he was leaking along Garrett's cheek.

Garrett grinned, the sloppy sort he seemed to specialize in, wrapped his fingers around Anders', and wrapped his mouth around him.

The heat and wetness and in no small measure that damn 'drink' hit Anders full force. His head spun, and if he stood up it'd be the end of him, as if he had any excuse to ever leave this chair or Garrett's mouth again.

"Love, _yes_," he groaned, pushing deeper into his mouth as Garrett sucked, bobbed back and forth, swirled his tongue along the corona of Anders' cock. Even with the fire in the hearth, everything in the room seemed dark, and all he could feel was Garrett's hot tongue around his prick.

When Anders groaned again, Garrett popped off, and the world went blind.

"_Louder_," he growled, and then he pulled one of Anders' balls into his mouth. It was sloppy, like everything else about Garrett right now, but _Maker_, Anders didn't care. He slid down the chair to push further into Garrett's mouth, to coax him into sucking every neglected part of his body, every part of him that was on _fire_.

He buried one hand tightly in Garrett's hair, holding him down at his balls demanding so much attention and stroking himself with his other hand. He slipped one finger underneath his own foreskin, rubbing gently while Garrett worked at that spot between balls and cock, building rhythm.

"Come on," Garrett said, desperate, dragging the soft underside of his tongue back up Anders' shaft, replacing Anders' finger under the foreskin, lapping at that _spot_ just below, meeting Anders' eyes for the briefest of moments. "Come on, louder!"

Any blood left in his head, hazily spinning with the rest of the room, left him, and when Garrett took him deep, the back of his mouth rubbing so damn perfectly, Garrett looking so beautiful around him, Anders _shouted_.

Garrett's hands skimmed up Anders' thighs as he sucked, like Anders was something holy, and like the holy Maker he would also one day _leave_, so even with his heavy head begging to loll back and let the heat claim him, he brushed the hair out of Garrett's face and forced his eyes to focus.

His jaw clenched, cock pulsing, hips thrusting forward, and he moaned louder and louder through gritted teeth.

"I can't-!" Anders pleaded, but Garrett only responded with a grunt, his mouth full of cock, and when Anders came, he literally saw stars.

Somewhere in the distance beyond the ache of release he heard his own shouting, heard Garrett gasp and spit, and then the roar in his ears and behind his eyes faded just enough for him to see the come on Garrett's face and chest.

Anders slumped in the chair, spent.

Back down between his knees, Garrett's shoulders heaved, eyes still drunk, and he climbed into Anders' lap, wiped his mouth, and kissed him deep and hungry. Anders opened compliant under him-his body felt like wood, or jelly, somehow both, heavy and loose. He let his eyes fall shut, reveling in Garrett's firm weight in his arms and tongue in his mouth.

The liquor was hitting him hard, distorting everything dark and blurred, and when Garrett whispered, "Let me fuck you against the wall," Anders _did_, on their knees, stumbling hot and hard and sweaty, Garrett's cock pushing unsteady but self-assured into his ass, and their come stained the paint.

Before he even opened his eyes, he felt the lethargy weighing him down, midday sun streaming in beyond heavy lids still captive to the last clutches of sleep, and damned if they weren't trying their best to drag him back down. Somehow they'd made it to the bed, and the blankets and soft mattress and overbearing warmth didn't feel so much tangible as _eternal_.

Sobering up was still a work in progress, then.

When he finally pried his eyes open, Garrett was staring again. No leer this time, just settled watching, resting his head on the naked curve of his shoulders.

"'Afternoon," he said.

Anders mumbled something that didn't quite make the cut into real words, knuckling sleep out of his eyes and glancing blearily up at Garrett.

"It's a shame I probably can't remember half of last night, because you look _fabulous_."

He didn't have the energy to roll his eyes anywhere but that space of self-perception in his own mind, but he still managed to flop onto his side and bury his face in Garrett's hip.

"I can't believe you talked me into that," he grumbled. "My face feels sticky."

"Mine too, thanks for that," Garrett laughed. "Admit it, you know it was fun." But then his hand fell on Anders' back, and when Anders looked up at him again he could see the teeth behind his grin.

Head starting at an ache and still a touch swimmy, Anders smiled.

Garrett rubbed his thumb over Anders' shoulderblade then sank down next to him on the bed, "I mean," he continued, softer, "when the Champion asks you to drink, you don't say no, it's kind of a thing. I mean, what kind of savior am I if I don't gratuitously abuse my power?"

Anders pulled him level, eye to eye and side by side.

Garrett's hands were strong and sturdy.

* * *

><p><em>Lolol so I had an OCD attack and drank a beer then forgot I drank a beer and took a xanax and wrote this WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW RIGHT? Hawke is a big sad clown in my head. Huge huge huge beta thx to mjules and spicyshimmy. Title is an incredibly obvious and plebian literary reference. :( Completed 12.06.<em>


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